


Rick Grimes and The No-Good Very Bad Love Plot

by transstevebucky



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Matchmaking, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 11:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transstevebucky/pseuds/transstevebucky
Summary: As long as Rick’s known him, Daryl’s never seemed to show any real interest in the idea of sex or relationships.While most people Rick meets talk about old flames or dead loved ones, Daryl scuffs a foot into the ground and avoids everyone’s eyes, lest he be dragged into a conversation he doesn’t want to be a part of.Rick's going to fix that if it kills him.





	Rick Grimes and The No-Good Very Bad Love Plot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deafpool (castielsass)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsass/gifts).



> hey @deafpool!!! i'm sorry this took so fucking long to write, i hope it's everything you hoped for!!! i love u!

As long as Rick’s known him, Daryl’s never seemed to show any real interest in the idea of sex or relationships.

While most people Rick meets talk about old flames or dead loved ones, Daryl scuffs a foot into the ground and avoids everyone’s eyes, lest he be dragged into a conversation he doesn’t want to be a part of.

For a long while, Rick assumed it was the constant danger; the non-stop movement of survival, from the Quarry to the CDC, from there to the farm, from the farm to the prison, and then the ridiculously long road to Alexandria.

Only, now they’re settled into a routine, and Daryl __still__ hasn’t mentioned anything. Any _ _one__.

The Saviors are either dead or being slowly included in the communities, Negan’s six feet under, and Daryl’s back to his usual grumpy-yet-sweet demeanor he adopted back at the prison.

And it’s not like there’s no interest in him; several women from the Kingdom have come to Alexandria far more than they need to just to flirt with Daryl, and either he hasn’t noticed or is purposefully ignoring them, because they always come away disappointed.

Even the few men that have tried it on with Daryl don’t seem to get anywhere, although they pull out more smiles from him than the women do.

It’s clearly not that Daryl doesn’t __want__ it, surely, because sometimes Daryl looks at Rick and Michonne with something longing trapped behind his eyes, and when Tara talks about Rosita or Aaron about Eric he always gets a little bashful.

So, maybe it’s that old insecurity? The one that draped itself around Daryl’s shoulders like a second skin for so long before the prison, that comes back when he gets hurt?

Either way, Rick isn’t __having it.__

Daryl deserves to be happy. He deserves to feel loved. And fuck, Rick’s going to make sure that happens.

+++

“So what are you saying? You’re going to play matchmaker? How well d’you think that’s gonna play out, Rick?”

Rick sighs, two sides of their bedsheet caught in his fists, and Michonne watches him like he’s a fucking idiot and it’s sort of a shame she loves him. She does that a lot. God, he’d die for her.

“I just want him to be happy, ‘Chonne, like you make me,” he tells her, and her face softens a little, “I’ve got you, Tara’s got Rosita, Aaron’s got Eric, Carol’s got Ezekiel… Hell, even Carl’s got Enid. He deserves to have someone who loves him.”

Michonne blows a bit of fluff from out of her face and rolls her shoulders. “He does. But, Rick, he’s one of the most observant people I’ve ever met. There’s no way he’s not going to realise what you’re doing. And you’re not exactly __subtle__.”

Michonne looks gorgeous, like this, dark skin turning into hues of golden and purple from the sinking sun, haloed by the dying light. And Rick loves her so much it aches. She’s one of the reasons he’s still alive, one of the reasons he’s still moving, and Daryl is another.

He just wants his brother to feel at peace, feel some semblance of relaxation, and if he gets even a hint of what Rick feels for his fiance, then any amount of grumbling and harsh glares will be worth it.

“I know,” he admits, “and I’m not even sure if he likes anyone, or if he’s gay or… whatever. Do you think Carol knows?”

Michonne looks at him, blinking slowly like a happy cat. “If anyone knows, it’ll probably be her. Although, I don’t think he’s straight. That much I’m sure of.”

“Oh, yeah? How d’you figure?”

He’s never really thought about Daryl’s sexuality; probably __because__ of his complete disregard for any kind of interpersonal relationships, so it’s not like he’s against the idea of him being gay, or straight. It just feels sort of foreign.

“Well,” Michonne says, voice drawling a bit, leaning forward to tuck the sheet under the mattress, “there was a period of about six months where he spent half his time staring at your ass. That clued me in.”

Rick flushes from his toes to the roots of his hair.

 _ _Daryl__ watching __him?__ Being __attracted__ to him? That’s- ridiculous, fucking absurd, absolutely-. “No. No, that’s not true.”

“Alright.” Michonne shrugs, “whatever makes you feel better, Sheriff. Tuck your corners in. We have to fix up Judy’s bed next.”

+++

Michonne’s reveal does not make any of this easier.

Rick knows Daryl has trust issues; if Daryl sees Rick trying to set him up with someone, there’s a chance he’ll think Rick knows about his past feelings and feels disgusted or distrustful, which just isn’t the case.

It’s flattering, to know Daryl looked at him like that at some point. It’s not the same now, that much he knows (because Michonne agreed, and Michonne is usually right), but it gives him a starting point.

If he likes men, if he liked __Rick__ , that narrows down the playing field a little, gives Rick some kind of demographic to stick to.

Science. He knows it.

Well. Knows of it, anyway. Half of what Eugene says flies over his head.

“Oh, yeah,” Tara snorts, when Rick asks her if she knows about Daryl being __possibly__ gay, “when I met him I was, like, eighty percent sure you two were boning.”

Rick stares at the glass in his hand with a kind of churning horror that only usually affects him when he’s in the middle of a herd.

“He,” Rick tries, “why, what did-. Did he say anything, or?”

“Hm.” Tara takes a heavy bite from a stick of liquorice, snaps off a piece, and offers it to him. Rick takes it and chews with a numb jaw, mind reeling. “Not really. He never came out, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t think he was ever really in the closet, though. It’s not like he was subtle about it. He just looked at you a lot, y’know? At your arms, your ass, your freaky bow legs. A couple other guys a couple other times, but nothing substantial. Why?”

“I have __not__ got freaky- you know what? That’s not what this conversation is about. Have you seen anyone he’s interested in, shown any kind of particular fondness for, in the last couple months? Anyone who’s flirted with him, or who he’s acted nice around?”

“I don’t think Daryl’s particularly nice with anyone, Rick.” Tara tells him, with a little shrug. She’s got a pencil tucked behind her ear and ink all over her wrists from notes she’s taken about what needs to be done in the community, leaning back against her kitchen counter with her arms crossed over her chest. She looks entirely in her element, entirely at ease, which is so good to see after all those weeks of her looking lost and heartbroken. “Besides us, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Rick agrees, rubbing a hand over his beard. This is going to be harder than he thought. “Any men that are attractive?”

“Rick, dude,” Tara sighs, gesturing vaguely to her outfit, “do I look like a woman who knows what someone likes in a man?”

That’s a fair point. Maybe Rick should speak with someone who knows what they’re talking about.

“Thanks, Tara,” he tells her, and passes her a fresh packet of strawberry laces, since she likes them so much. Her eyes light up as she tears into it, nodding at him with a grin on her face. “You were helpful.”

“No problem, Rick. Scoot, dude, I got a hot lady date tonight and I don’t need your bow legs cramping my style.”

“I __don’t have bow legs__!”

+++

“You kind of have bow legs,” Michonne tells him, when he recounts all of this to her later, legs tangled on the couch, “they’re cute. Like a little centaur.”

Rick’s not sure that’s a compliment, but Michonne kisses him anyway, so he thinks that’s alright.

+++

“Sorry,” Aaron says, face completely blank, “are you asking me how to chat up gay men?”

“Yes,” Rick says, because Aaron should be __getting__ this, it’s not like he was unclear, “how do I do it?”

“Uh.” Aaron stares at the glass of wine on the table and reaches for it with the face of a man going through all five stages of grief. “Right. So. Why, first of all?”

“Because we’re settled down and Daryl still hasn’t found anyone even though people keep __throwing__ themselves at him! He deserves love!”

Aaron glances quickly between his empty glass and the bottle of wine, and then takes a heavy pull from the bottle. “And you think tricking him is the way to go about that?”

Not particularly, no, but it’s not like Daryl ever talks about relationships. Rick’s pretty sure if he tried to open up a discussion with: __so, gotten any lately?__ He’d either get hit or get a brand new, Daryl-shaped hole in the living-room wall.

And Rick just got done plastering after Carl did that the last time, so he’s not prepared to deal with that.

“Sure,” Rick says, because he’s a leader but a little white lie never hurt anybody, “it’s the only way.”

Aaron takes another swallow of wine and licks his red lips. “I want you to know that this is a terrible idea, and that as a gay man I find you deeply stupid and wrong even if you are very, very pretty.”

Rick hums. “Noted. Now, how do I do this?”

Aaron goes through the basics of gay attraction; the parts Rick didn’t already know from being a bisexual man very comfortable in his identity. Talking about how homophobic upbringings will no doubt contribute to some kind of shame. Rick takes notes on a little Hello Kitty pad Michonne brought back from a run for Judith, and Aaron all the while looks like he’s losing the will to live.

By the end of the conversation, Rick’s got four pages of dealing with Daryl’s particular brand of trauma (which he’s been navigating pretty well the last few years anyway, but it helps to get a fresh perspective), the rundown on how to matchmake, and a list of possible men that Daryl might like.

“Now,” Aaron says, pointing at the list of possibilities, “I’m __pretty__ sure these guys are gay. Or bi. But my gaydar hasn’t ever been great, so tread lightly.”

Rick nods, smiles, pats Aaron on the back, and turns to leave.

Aaron sighs. “And Rick?”

Rick turns back to him, nodding him on. Aaron looks deeply uncomfortable, squashed up in his chair with wine stains on his chin. “Yeah?”

“Just,” he says, “be careful. Daryl’s your brother, but he’s our family now, too, and I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“I know. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Sure thing.”

When Rick swings open the door to get onto the porch, he hears yet more wine glug into a glass.

So, apparently he’s turned Aaron into an alcoholic over the course of one conversation.

He’s a fucking outstanding leader.

+++

Aaron’s list of possible gay men isn’t extensive; a few of the older guys from the Kingdom, a couple of people from Sanctuary who Rick knows for a fact Daryl won’t go for, and Jesus.

Considering the fact Daryl lives with his time split between Alexandria and Hilltop, there’s only one man that’s a possible option, and he looks like the best bet.

Jesus is strong, doesn’t beat around the bush, handsome. He knows how to fight and how to come down from a fight, and __most__ importantly, Daryl seems to enjoy his company, or at the very least tolerate it.

He circles Jesus’ name in thick red pen four times and tacks it to the bedroom wall.

He has work to do.

+++

Getting ahold of Jesus is… difficult.

He’s still one of the Communities’ most prolific runner, still one of their top fighters no matter how much they train everyone up, and he’s quick as a cat to leave if he notices a conversation about to take place he doesn’t want to be part of.

Another reason he and Daryl would be a good match.

He adds it to the profile he’s put together of Jesus absentmindedly one day, while he’s on watch, and that’s when the man himself appears.

Riding on a horse, hair tied back into a knot at the base of his skull, dressed in his usual leather duster and heavy boots, knives strapped to his legs. Paul Rovia looks every part a man Daryl could be interested in, could be __happy__ with.

Rick lets him in the gate, climbs down quickly to greet him.

Jesus smiles, happy; no issues since they’ve last met, Maggie sends her love, baby Hershel’s doing well, Daryl just got back from a hunt this morning and he’s planning on coming back to the Safe Zone within the next few days.

Rick claps a hand on his shoulder, and Jesus glances at it quickly before looking Rick back in the eyes, confused tilt to his mouth. “We should talk.”

Jesus licks his lips. “Um. Why?”

Rick realises he must look a little imposing, but Jesus hasn’t ever been nervous around him before. This… does not bode well. Jesus is too intuitive. If he spooks him, he might just run off.

Rick strokes his hand over the horse’s mane before Lissa, a woman transplanted from the Kingdom, takes him to the stables.

“Nothin’ bad, there’s nothin’ to worry about.” Rick nods at him, the way he’s crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t stress so much.”

“ _ _You’re__ telling __me__ not to stress so much.” Jesus regards him like he thinks Rick’s lost it again. “Okay.”

Rick grins at him. This does not seem to soothe Jesus at all.

“C’mon,” Rick says, patting him again on the arm, “I’ll getcha some water, we’ll talk some.”

Jesus follows at his side, but it’s clearly begrudging.

That’s alright. Rick’s got a plan.

+++

Rick knows a lot of things about his brother.

He was abused as a kid, horribly. He has low self-worth because of that. He’s resourceful. He’s strong. He’s pretty good-looking. He’s the best hunter any of the communities have. He’s gay. And he liked Rick, at some point, which means he probably has a type.

Rick might not know what that type includes, but Jesus, resting against the countertops with his fingers curling towards the floor, handsome as hell even if Rick isn’t interested in anyone else except Michonne… Jesus very well might fit the profile.

“So,” Rick says, passing Jesus some of the lemonade Judith and Michonne made a couple of nights ago, “we never really talked ‘bout much. Tell me about yourself?”

Jesus stares at the lemonade in his hand and takes a couple of careful sips, eyes lighting up at the taste of it. Michonne always gets it spot on. Rick never manages to stir right, always leaves little sugar particles at the bottom like a sickly treat.

“I don’t know how much there is to tell, really. Grew up in a care home, never got adopted, stayed alone a lot of the time. I didn’t trust people much. I still don’t like being around a lot of people. Daryl s-. I learned a lot of martial arts as a kid, so after a few years out of the system I got myself a studio, taught self-defence for women who struggled with abuse. Dated a couple people, but nothing real.”

Rick cocks his head.

Twice he’s mentioned Daryl since he’s arrived.

There’s a sort of panicked look that comes over his face when he talks about Daryl, a little twitchy.

“You got anyone now?” Rick asks, because that’s the normal thing to ask. Jesus is making it easy, despite the fact every word seems to be tugged from him against his will.

“No!” He looks alarmed, tripping back against the counter with wide eyes, lemonade sloshing over his fingers. “No, why would-. Has anyone said anything? I __don’t__.”

Rick blinks, putting his hands up like you would to settle a startled horse. “Hey, relax. I ain’t tryin’ to make you uncomfortable. Just everyone around here seems to have someone, only seems fair you got someone, too.”

Jesus closes down, face going blank, arms crossing over his chest once again, radiating tension. “I haven’t. I promise. Now, uh, do you have anything you need me to do? Maggie said you were thinking about expanding the farming area.”

+++

“He panicked?”

Michonne tucks her toes underneath his thigh, and Rick groans on a nod, head supported on her muscled shoulder. “He lost his mind when I asked, completely shut down. Refused to talk about it.”

Michonne makes a soft __hmm__ noise in her throat, leaning into him with warm eyes. “Maybe he’s used to homophobes. Or maybe he just doesn’t like talking about that. For the end of the world, people are so __chatty__.”

Rick stares at her face, her soft mouth, the way her lips are shining from biting on them. For a moment, he’s so utterly taken aback that he __gets__ her, that he gets to love her and hold her and be with her, he doesn’t realise she’s spoken. The words filter in like coming through cotton. “Mmhm. You could be right. I just thought-. I don’t know. He’d be easier to talk with than Daryl.”

Michonne nods, contemplative, strokes a hand over his stomach through his shirt. “He’s never been very forthcoming about his past. Maybe he just doesn’t see the point in talking about it.”

“Maybe. But,” Rick adjusts himself so he can face her full on, watch the way the light catches her skin and turns it blue, “he did mention Daryl a couple times. Got a little twitchy when he did.”

Michonne grins, pokes him in the belly. “Well, Sheriff, you’re awful frightening. Maybe he knows how protective you are of him.”

Rick hums. “Maybe. Anyway, I think we got some important business to tend to.”

“Is that so?” The curve of her eyebrow matches the twist of her mouth, breathless happiness that catches Rick off guard all the damn time, looking at her.

“It’s so.”

They get carried away with kissing, for a while, all hot skin and gentle hands, before the door opens and Rick hears a groan of frustration.

“You guys are __gross__!”

Rick turns his head to look at his only son, gangly and drenched with sweat from standing out in the Virginian heat on watch. “It’s just love, Carl.”

“Yeah,” Carl agrees, “and you’re __so__ old, dad. Michonne, why are you dating his dusty ass?”

Michonne breaks into giggles, while Rick plants a hand on his chest. “Me? A dusty ass? I’ll have you know plenty of people find my ass __splendid__ , young man.”

Carl snorts, putting his holster on the hook by the door. “Yeah? Who?”

“Well, Michonne for one,” he says, and Michonne nods serenely, lips twitching, “and Daryl, for another.”

Carl’s head jerks up, eyes owl-wide. “ _ _Daryl__?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Carl blinks. Blinks again. “That makes sense. He did always spend a lot of time looking at you, at the Prison. And he used to have some, uh. Skin mags. Stored in his pack, y’know.”

Rick tries not to get offended that his fifteen year old son noticed all of that before he did. It doesn’t work.

“What kind of skin mags?”

He thinks about his notebook upstairs, and tugs out a pen. His arm will do, for now, before he can drag himself off the couch and add to Daryl’s profile.

“Dad,” Carl says, “I’m not talking about that with you. __Or__ Michonne. I’m gonna go cuddle with Judy and pretend I didn’t walk in on you with your hands up her shirt.”

Rick pouts. “It’s for research.”

Carl grunts. “I hate you, dad. I really do.”

“Yeah,” Michonne agrees, “he’s a dumbass. But he’s our dumbass, Carl.”

Carl glances at him and sighs. “I guess so. Night, guys.”

“Goodnight, Carl.” When he’s turned and gone up the stairs to Judith’s room, Rick pokes Michonne, “he had __skin mags__!”

“Rick,” she says, “I was this close to gettin’ on top of you. Can we not talk about Daryl’s jerk-off stash now?”

Rick flushes pink all over. “Fair enough.”

It’s remarkably easy not to think about the skin mags, after that.

+++

Daryl arrives at Alexandria’s gates with a deer slung around his shoulders and a scowl on his face.

He’s every bit the man Rick met at the Quarry all that time ago, and yet somehow so different it hurts to look at him.

Long hair, imposing walk, broad-shouldered and covered in blood, leather all over like an apocalyptic kinkster.

Rick’s not interested in people outside of Michonne, hasn’t felt attracted to really anyone since he first kissed her, but he has to admit Daryl looks __hot__.

“Hey,” Daryl says, and pats Rick’s shoulder with a deer hoof, smearing Rick’s shirt with red, “you seen Paul around?”

Rick’s so focused on the meat Daryl brought with him, the way his eyes are brighter than he’s ever seen them, that it takes a moment to remember who Paul even is. “Oh. Jesus?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, slow, like maybe he thinks Rick is a bit slow himself, “he came here, right?”

“Oh!” Rick says, and then grins so wide Daryl takes a step back, looking vaguely alarmed even as Rosita approaches with gloved hands and a tarp to take the deer off his shoulders. “Yes! He’s around here, somewhere, farming. He’s good at that, isn’t he?”

Daryl blinks. Blinks again. Blinks a third time, and strokes Rosita’s wrist in a silent thanks. She gives him a nod right back, drags the deer into the inventory.

And then it’s just Daryl and Rick again, Daryl with narrowed ice-blue eyes and carefully trimmed goatee, blood-soaked and handsome despite it all.

“Sure,” Daryl agrees. “Are you doin’ alright? Lookin’... a little crazy there, Rick.”

Rick takes note of his arms, trembling at his sides, legs bouncing where he stands, rocking back and forth a little. Slows down his movements and cocks his head, smiles. “Sure. You and Jesus, uh… you close?”

Daryl starts walking, shoulders drawn up tight around his ears. “Guess so.”

Rick matches his pace as best he can with his busted leg, clicking his tongue as he watches Daryl move through the streets towards the small farm they’ve been building up. “He’s uh… He’s gay, ain’t he?”

Daryl freezes, jaw clenching. “Yeah. He is.”

His tone is angry, cold, eyes gone blank but fists drawn up tight, and Rick realises all at once that he did something wrong, __said__ something wrong, because Daryl hasn’t looked at him like this since the war.

“Hey,” Rick says, and Daryl’s lip curls, “ _ _hey__. I don’t mean nothin’ by it, alright? Just heard a couple rumors.”

Daryl kicks the post of the gate that keeps the farm separated from the rest of the Safe Zone, spits on the ground like it’s personally offended him. “People should keep their damn mouths shut. More important shit to talk about than who- who sticks their dick where, who’s straight and who ain’t-. Like it ever __mattered__ , like it was ever-.”

He shakes his head, swallows roughly, and Rick tilts closer so he can see the way Daryl’s throat is bobbing, eyes a little glassy.

“Doesn’t matter,” Daryl repeats, steady, and blinks away the tears in his eyes, “just… Rumors are stupid, s’all.”

“Alright.” Rick agrees, but he doesn’t quite know how to handle this Daryl, this version of Daryl he hasn’t had to deal with in over a year, all angry eyes and bitten lips. Back at the farm, the CDC, it was all about being soothing, like with a startled animal; light steps, casual words, no pussy-footing but still gentle, calm.

Since Negan and the cell, though, Daryl gets even angrier if he thinks someone’s trying to baby him.

“He’s gay,” Daryl says, nodding, at Jesus’s form across the way, bent over and working in the soil, “and that ain’t even half of who he is. Who I-. He’s a good man.”

“I know,” Rick tells him, because he does, because Jesus hasn’t got a malicious bone in his body. “Ain’t nothing wrong with being gay. I’ve been with men, you know, it ain’t a big deal.”

Daryl pauses, shoulders loosening a little as his hand presses into the sanded down wood, eyes focused on Jesus, mud up to his exposed forearms. “You what?”

“Well,” Rick sighs, rubbing his nose, “y’know, before Lori, I fooled around a little bit with guys, I ain’t-. I ain’t ever hated gay people, not once, and it’d be hypocritical if I did anyhow, seeing’s I’m bi and all.”

“You’re bi,” Daryl blurts, sounding a little clumsy about it, tongue not curling around the word like it understands, “you. You’e…”

“Into my own gender.” Rick agrees, smiling as much as he can, and it’s __stupid__ to feel anxious about this, utterly ridiculous, but Daryl is important to him, and he’s been so-. Different, in the last year. He clarifies, “and others, obviously.”

“Huh,” Daryl whispers, and there’s a twitch in his eyebrow, now, like he’s a horse trying to flick off flies, “I’m gay, you know that? Only like men, I mean, I just-. Not women, never really been into women. They’re great, Carol and Michonne and Maggie and everyone else, but they-. __Men__.”

He sounds emphatic, hands tense at his sides

“Yeah,” Rick tells him, with as sweet a smile as he can give, “and I’m sorry if I ever made you think I’d be bad about it, or-. You don’t deserve that. You deserve to be happy, brother. I’d give anything to make it so.”

“Lame. But, uh. No. You didn’t. It’s my shit, you know? You’re good.” Daryl says, and taps against Rick’s belly, their silent __got your back__ gesture that makes Rick think of family and being home. “Gayest shit I’ve ever heard, and I’ve sucked cock.”

Rick laughs, loud and unabashed, and Daryl smirks and then nods hello to Jesus, who’s perked up at the sight of them, scrambling to his feet like he wasn’t a highly trained martial arts instructor before the world fell.

And then. Something happens. And Rick is a fucking idiot.

Thing is, see, that Rick isn’t subtle, but above all else he’s sort of oblivious.

Not to battle, or the dead, or anything that truly matters in terms of living; but the alive people around him, the ones he’d die for?

He’s shit at noticing anything about them.

Hell, it took over three years to see that Daryl’s gay. It took him until a tube of mints to realise he loved Michonne.

He knows the basics, can infer a lot; he was a cop, and a good one at that.

But that’s the length of it.

And looking back now, stood next to the farm, the scent of orange trees and carrots being pulled from the hard earth, he realises something he maybe should have realised before he set out on this entire expedition, this matchmaking.

 _ _Daryl was already happy__.

He lit up seeing Jesus, and not even just at that moment, but all the time.

From the second they met, even as Jesus set off firecrackers and stole their shit, there’d been a spark to Daryl that Rick hadn’t seen before; a light behind his eyes, a cocky twist to his grin.

He allowed Jesus into his personal space, he asked after him. He listened to Jesus’s point of view, he never raised his voice, never got angry around him. He looked settled, calmer; still full of energy, the need to move and keep moving would never end for him, Rick knew. But there was a softness to him Rick hadn’t seen except with Daryl’s interactions with kids, a gentleness that overtook him and made him seem like a gentle giant instead of an experienced killer.

And Jesus brought that out even more in him, with his strength and boldness and flirtatious grins.

And Daryl brought it out in Jesus right back.

Because the Jesus they met all that time ago (not so long, really, but so much has happened in such a short time it feels like decades), would never have given up information about himself. His past, or his experiences, or his life.

And this Jesus, the one who leans over the gate and smirks at Daryl, mud on his nose; is a different man. Confident and calm, sweet and snarky, not because of his Jesus mask, but because of the man behind it.

Rick had never realised he’d never met Paul Rovia until this moment, right here, when he’s got one hand curling around Daryl’s hip and his head cocked, eyelashes lowered.

“You get anything for me?” Paul asks, almost seductive, blatantly ignoring Rick in favor of Daryl, who just smiles at him (and even that is different! There’s so much love there! Rick really is a fucking dumbass), leans in close to press his nose to Paul’s cheek.

“Caught a deer,” Daryl tells him, and rubs the dirt from Paul’s nose with a thumb, absent-minded and-. __Domestic.__ “Got a couple rocks I thought you might like.”

Paul grins, mouth stretched wide, and Rick catches his eye and gestures vaguely behind himself; __I’ll leave you to it, then__.

Daryl pats him on the shoulder, and Paul leans in to say goodbye, and Rick knows he’s a goddamn idiot, but this takes the fucking cake.

+++

Paul finds him a couple of hours later, when the sun has set and Daryl’s gone off to stand watch.

Rick settles down on the steps of he and Michonne’s house, nudges a little duck toy Judith left outside with his toe. “Hey.”

Paul smiles, leaning against the wooden post. “Your matchmaking skills need some work, Sheriff.”

Rick meets his eyes -bright and wide and intelligent, teasing. “Maybe. Thought I’d just freaked you out.”

“Nah,” Paul laughs, “gonna take more than that to scare me off, I think. I just wasn’t sure if Daryl had told you about us- it needed to be his decision, you know? You’re his family.”

Rick cocks his head, watches the way Paul looks so at ease, and thinks that he’s glad Daryl chose him, that Daryl has found happiness, that Paul has, too. “You’re family, too. And not just because you’re datin’ my brother, neither. You’ve been our family a long time.”

Paul nods, slow, biting his lip like he’s tasting the words as they reach him. “I’ve never really had anyone I cared about like this, you know? And I think it’s the same for him.”

“He’s good for you?” Rick asks, even though he knows the answer in the way Paul is loose-limbed like a cat, no stress around his eyes.

“The best,” Paul agrees, “and I hope I’m good for him, too. I won’t hurt him, if you’re worrying- you don’t have to give me the shovel talk.”

Rick smirks. “Still might kick your ass. Jury’s out.”

“Hey,” Paul snorts, “if I hurt him, he’d be the first in line to chew me out.”

And maybe a couple years ago that wouldn’t be true, when Daryl was insecurity personified, but he’s not that man any more. None of them are the same, and Daryl seems to be not-the-same for the better instead of the worse.

The Daryl that’s in love, the Daryl that Rick waved off to watch half an hour ago, that’s a Daryl that will fight for the good in his life with claws out and teeth bared.

“You’re right,” Rick allows, “and you could probably kick my ass anyway. Best to leave it to him.”

Paul nods. And then, with a weirdly tense look on his face, pats Rick on the head.

Rick pauses.

“Sorry,” Paul sighs, “that was weird. I don’t know how to finish a conversation, sometimes.”

Rick laughs under his breath, and Paul laughs back, and across the street, Rick catches Daryl’s face turned towards them in the moonlight.

And he’s happy.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gaydaryl on tumblr and transrickgrimes on twitter if you wanna talk about dumbass oblivious rick !


End file.
